A Friend Indeed
by Skeexikx
Summary: Tintin is just a little sick. He'll be fine, really he will. At least - that's what he thinks. TintinXHaddock - comfort only - nothing more.
1. Tummy Troubles

Not making any filthy lucre with this. Don't own Tintin & Company - Moulinsart does.

And more legal gobbledy-gook…Standard grammatical apology, any mistakes are due to fumble fingers, sheer blindness and complete disregard for the English language.

Why do I write so wordy? Is that a word – wordy?

This was to be a simple little one-shot on my take of Tintin falling ill and the Captain taking care of him – yeah – the obligatory illness story. Snort! :-)

Just care and comfort – nothing hot and heavy. Still recovering from ATW…

But obviously this also took on a life of its own and turned into a multi chapter – though just three in all. So grab some popcorn and a favorite blanket, get comfy and join along…

…

Tintin sat up and stretched. It was morning and more importantly – market day! He loved going into town and perusing all the stalls, finding a treasure or two or three to take back home with him.

Looking down he found Snowy lying beside him, tail wagging expectantly. Reaching over he proceeded to give his faithful companion the rubbing of his life, starting at the ears and working his way down to that sensitive spot just above the cropped tail, sending the dog into a fit of wriggling happiness. Flipping the small beast over, Tintin then continued to treat Snowy to a belly rub, further sending the white bundle of fur into a veritable paroxysm of delight.

Finally halting, he stared sternly at the dog and lowered his hand – shaped into a claw – just above the dog's muzzle. Ears back, Snowy responded by opening his mouth and pretended to bite at the hand as Tintin tried to grab onto the snout. Laughter and mock growls quickly ensued.

Stifling a yawn and giving into the urge for another stretch, Tintin flung back the covers. "Ready to start the day, Snowy?" he inquired, but the dog had already jumped off the bed and was standing by the door to the hallway.

Laughing again, Tintin shook his head. "Wait just a moment, have to use the bathroom."

Stepping into the adjoining room, he quickly used the facilities and then wrapped a robe around himself. Even though it was just the Captain, Nestor and himself in the great estate, he still felt a bit uneasy running around with just his pajamas on.

Striding to the door, he opened it and followed Snowy out into the hallway and from there to the kitchen, first to let Snowy out and then to get breakfast…

Ummm.

Tintin frowned as his stomach seemed to give a little lurch at the suggestion of food. In fact…he suddenly found he wasn't hungry at all. Eating was no longer an activity he was remotely interested in.

Still frowning as he entered the kitchen he found it occupied by Captain Haddock, who was sitting there tucking into a large plate of bacon and eggs.

Tintin's stomach gave a slightly larger lurch.

"Morning lad! Still planning on going with me to the market? Looks like a fine day." The older man greeted.

"Absolutely, mon cher. We're leaving at 9:00, correct?"

"Aye, have a bite to eat, get cleaned up and dressed and away we go."

Approaching the table, Tintin again looked at the plate of food and then away. Perhaps a cup of tea would settle his stomach. Getting up he put on the kettle, chose a teabag and began to prepare a cup. He purposefully made it rather weak.

Sitting down he sipped at the warm liquid. He didn't feel sick, just kind of…wishy-washy.

"That all you're going to have, lad? Know you like to keep your meals light, but that's going a bit far…"

Smiling at his friend's concern, Tintin sought to diffuse any unnecessary anxiety. "I'm ok, just not very hungry. We did have a late supper, so I guess I'm still full."

Hearing a noncommittal grunt, he stifled a sigh. He knew the Captain liked to fuss over him and Tintin tried to avoid being cosseted. After all, he was a fully competent young man quite capable of looking after himself.

Finishing his tea, he let Snowy back in who immediately ran to his own breakfast – thoughtfully provided by the ever efficient butler, and then went back to his room to get ready.

…

Tintin sat on the couch in the library, Snowy by his side, waiting for Haddock to arrive so they could leave. As he sat there he tried to convince himself he'd be just fine. He wasn't nauseous - just a little queasy. And yet…for some reason his stomach was a bit rebellious this morning and perhaps getting it done and over with would make him feel better. Getting up he made his way to the nearest bathroom.

Bending down and flipping up the seat to the toilet, he crouched there. He hated to throw up, but then he doubted anyone really enjoyed the experience. For a long moment nothing happened and then he felt the rise of something coming up. Closing his eyes he bent forward and let it out. It wasn't much but at least it was something. Wiping his eyes he stood up, closed the lid, flushed and then poured himself a cup of water to wash out his mouth.

He did feel a bit better. Confident he'd made the right decision, he returned to the library to find the Captain waiting for him.

"Ready lad?"

"Ready sir!"

The drive into town was nice, the late autumn air quite cool in the morning. Tintin was glad he'd worn his sweater and over coat. Once in town they found a parking space and from there began to wander about the market.

Tintin was standing next to his friend while they searched through a compilation of old books when he felt the same queasiness as he had earlier. Perhaps he should go to a nearby pharmacy and see if they had anything to settle his upset stomach. Or perhaps he should just find a place to sit and rest a moment.

"Captain?" Hearing a confirming 'hmmm' from his friend, Tintin continued. "I'm going to go over by the band shell; I need to sit for a bit."

"You okay lad?" Haddock asked in concern, turning to look at him. "You didn't have anything to eat, and you do seem…a bit pale…"

"I'm sure I'll be fine, just seem to be suffering a bit of an upset stomach. Keep looking, I'll find you if I need anything."

Seeing the other man give a hesitant nod, Tintin wandered over to the nearest bench and sat down. Normally he loved to watch the various people as they walked by, but he kept his attention on his gut, which was beginning to flip-flop in alarming ways.

Oh dear! Perhaps instead of a pharmacy, he should find a bathroom instead. But where? Wait – his apartment was just a few blocks away – perhaps…

Standing up and looking around he tried to spot the older seaman. Seeing no sign of him, Tintin turned to Snowy. "Find the Captain, boy, good dog."

With a yap, the white terrier took off, stopping so Tintin could catch up. In no time at all the dog had searched out the Captain.

"Captain? I need to…go to…my apartment. I think…I'm going to be…sick."

Whipping around, the older man stared at Tintin. "Ahhh - You don't look very good, lad."

"Don't feel very well, either."

Starting to walk away, he spoke over his shoulder. "You can stay here if you like, no reason we both should miss out on market day. Meet me when you're done."

"Hah!" Came an explosive retort. "As if I wouldn't come with ya, my boy."

Walking quickly they left the park and began to make their way to Labrador Road. Neither one considered going back to the car, as it would take less time to travel by foot.

The closer they got to Tintin's apartment, the worse Tintin began to feel. Breaking into a trot as he rounded the last corner, he spotted the familiar green door. Just as he did, he knew without a shadow of a doubt he had only a few minutes to get there.

Tintin ran down the sidewalk, trying to reach into the pocket of his overcoat for his keys. Snowy was right beside him, barking anxiously. He could hear the Captain shouting something behind him. Reaching the door he managed to shove the key in, turn the knob and then was rushing up the stairs, not bothering or caring if the door was shut behind him.

Once more he had to stop to unlock another door, his mind and body in complete distress. Flinging that door open, he sprinted toward his bedroom, tossing his coat to one side. Through the small hallway, around the corner, around another corner and he had reached the bathroom.

But there was no way he was going to make it to the toilet. Even that small distance was too much. Gripping the side of the sink he leaned over and heaved.

And heaved. And heaved. And then heaved some more. It seemed as if his stomach wanted everything that may have been within it out, out right now.

And that wasn't the only thing that needed to get out right now.

His lower half decided to join in as well. And there was nothing he could do about it but stand there.

Hearing a voice in the outer room, Tintin managed to reach behind him and slam the door shut and twist the lock. No way did he want anyone walking in on him like this. He didn't want to be here…

A light knock. "Tintin? Laddie? You okay in there?"

Grimacing, Tintin could do nothing as his stomach still convulsed. The only thing such activity was producing at this point was orange bile though.

Finally the spasms lessened and he could stand up. Taking a deep breath he steadied himself. "I'm...okay. I just was sick and I…made a bit of a mess." Tintin winced. That was putting it lightly. "I'll just be a moment cleaning up. Please Captain, wait in the living room, I won't be long."

Silence for a moment. "Well…all right my boy."

Sighing, Tintin proceeded to rinse out the sink. That clean, he turned to the other problem at hand. Pulling his blue sweater off and kicking his shoes to one side, he worked his pants down, trying not to make more of a mess than there already was. Wrinkling his nose at the stench, he then removed his socks and added them to the pile of soiled clothes, along with his white shirt as the tail was showing marks as well. Last to go was his underwear. If he hadn't already thrown up, he'd do so again.

Disgusted with himself even though he knew there had been nothing he could have done, he stepped into the shower and gave himself a quick once-over.

Drying himself off, he grabbed another towel and pulled it tight around him. Looking down at the pile of ruined clothing, he debated as to whether he should get them cleaned or just toss them.

Much as he'd like to toss them, they really could be cleaned. Wrapping them up in the wet towel, he tied the ends shut. Perhaps he'd take them to the Laundromat later in the day. For now he placed the bundle in the small trashcan, for lack of better place to store them.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

…


	2. Sick of Being Sick

Not a very nice time for our young man…

…

Immediately he found a very worried Snowy right outside. The dog rushed in and opened its mouth to give a concerned bark and then stopped. Tintin could swear the animal's eyes crossed a bit, and Snowy gave a couple of dry coughs.

"Yeah I know, smells rather bad, doesn't it?" he whispered in apology. Stepping into his bedroom he made sure to shut the bathroom door firmly.

Crossing over to the small hallway between his bedroom and the living room he stood there a moment. Peering around the corner, he found his friend sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire place. Shutting the bedroom door and then the hall door, he moved over to sit in the adjoining chair.

"How you feeling, lad? You definitely are lookin' rather pale." The older man asked, giving Tintin an appraising gaze.

Tintin replied with a shrug, pulling his lips to one side. "Made it to the sink, but barely. Should be done though, since I got rid of everything." Glancing up at his friend from beneath his eyelashes, he hesitated for a moment. "And I do mean everything. As you can see, I'm wearing just a towel. My clothes are…well, soiled. I didn't just…throw-up."

"Ah. I see. Hmmm, you don't have a change of clothes here, do you?"

"No. Everything's at Marlinspike Hall. Probably should have kept something here for emergencies, but never thought this might happen…"

Smiling back at him, Haddock reached out a hand and patted him on the shoulder. "Tell you what my boy, I'll run home, grab a set of clothes and then come back quick as a whistle, how's that sound?"

"Like a plan, Captain!"

"Do you want me to pick you up anything else, laddie?"

Tintin gave it a thought, but he was sure he'd be fine.

"No, I'll be okay."

He wasn't okay. Within a few minutes after his older friend left he was back in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and craning his neck to throw up in the sink. And twenty five minutes after that he was doing the same thing.

Even though his stomach was practically empty, it was determined to clean itself out to the very last ounce. Over and over his abdomen cramped, his lower belly doing the same.

On the third go round, he decided he might as well get the bucket from under the sink and take it into the bathroom, as his neck was beginning to develop quite the kink in it. Apparently this illness wasn't over yet and was just going to have to run its course.

Between the bouts of sickness, he curled up on top of his bed. He knew how long it took to get from town to the estate, and the Captain wasn't due back for at least another half hour if not longer, depending on traffic. And if his illness continued at the rate it was going, there was no way he'd be able to make the drive from his apartment back to Marlinspike without becoming sick again in the car.

So that meant he'd have to stay here. Sighing, he wondered if he could have the landlady go out and get him something to drink. Water wasn't going to cut it and he had nothing with which to make tea. Though actually what he really wanted was a lemon-lime soda, warm and flat. Nothing settled a stomach so nicely. Some crackers would be nice, too.

As he lay there he felt the by now familiar tell-tale signs of another round. Curling his lip he stubbornly refused to move. He was sick of being sick. Maybe if he just lay there and didn't move…

A minute later and he was moving.

After flushing the toilet and rinsing out the pail, he stepped back into the bedroom only to hear a voice from the other room.

"Tintin? I'm back my boy."

"Captain! That was fast." He replied, entering his living room.

"Aye! Might have driven a wee bit faster than I should. How are you feeling? Any better?" The older man's blue eyes peered at him with worry.

Tintin shrugged. "Not really, still being sick. Something's got a hold of me but good."

Stepping close, Haddock laid the back of his hand against Tintin's brow. "Hmmm, no fever, that's a good thing. You have a headache at all, laddie, or feeling weak?"

Sitting in the chair, the youth shook his head. "No, a bit tired, that's all."

"Well, you just go get changed and I'll get you back home." The Captain replied assuredly.

Smiling lightly, Tintin shook his head again. "No, I don't think so. I've been sick pretty regularly, seems to be about twenty five minutes apart. And since it's still coming out…er…both ends, don't think I really want to be too far from a bathroom. If I was just tossing up, maybe – could pull over – but instead…"

"Ahhh, understand." His friend stood there for a moment. "Perhaps I should have brought you your pajama's instead."

"Actually, a robe would have been nicer. Wait!" he announced, stopping the man as he turned around. "The towel's working fine; you don't need to go all the way back to the estate. But there is something you can get for me, if you'd like?"

"Of course, of course, anything you need, my boy, just tell me."

A minute later and the older man had left to go to the grocers. And a few minutes later Tintin was once more in the bathroom.

…

Tintin sipped at the drink in his hand. It was a bit fizzy, but at least it was warm. And wet. Deliciously wet. Putting down the glass he nibbled on another cracker.

Haddock had returned with Tintin's required soft drink, saltine crackers and tea, along with dog food for Snowy. And a robe. Tintin had laughed at that, trust his friend to go above and beyond.

He had thrown up once again before the older man had come back, and had decided that perhaps something in his stomach might settle it. He had taken the glass of soda and box of crackers to his table and was sitting there eating and drinking slowly.

Swallowing a bite of saltine, Tintin suddenly sat up straight, his eyes widening. Once more he found himself running to the bathroom and this time he didn't quite make it. Obviously putting food in wasn't the answer. At least this time he'd only thrown up.

Wiping at a spot that had missed the sink, he heard a noise behind him. "Here, let me do that lad. Why don't you go lay down for a bit?"

Tintin bowed his head. He was tired and lying down sounded good. But he'd made this mess…

"Go on, son."

"Thank you." He murmured and made his way to the bed. Pulling back the covers but keeping his new robe on, he slid in. Closing his eyes he hoped he'd fall asleep and stay that way. Hearing the Captain finish he followed the sound of the older man tiptoeing across his room and then gently pulling the door until it was slightly ajar.

Twenty five minutes later…

And twenty five minutes after that…

And two and a half hours later…

Tintin flopped down on the bed. Lord but he was so tired of being sick. He just wanted to fall asleep. That was the worst part – the time between bouts was just enough to allow him to almost fall asleep, only to be brought back to full consciousness by the knowledge that he was going to be sick again. Sometimes he got out of bed right away, but there were other times when he tried to talk himself out of it, only to leap out of bed before he vomited on the sheets.

At least one good thing had occurred. His lower end had finally shut itself off. But even though his stomach had nothing in it, it was still heaving up the thin orange bile. And was giving no indication of stopping soon.

Sighing with frustration, he levered himself up and trudged out into the living room, to fall into a heap in the chair.

Haddock looked over at him from where he was reading a novel. "How you doing my boy? Sure you don't want me to get a doctor?"

Tintin shook his head. The Captain was becoming quite concerned with the longevity of the youth's illness and had tried to convince Tintin that perhaps he should be examined. But Tintin had stubbornly refused. From time to time the older man had come in to his room, to check his forehead for a fever or to gently rub Tintin's aching back – sore from throwing up so much.

"This will pass…eventually. Surely I can't throw up forever." He stated tiredly, making a lame attempt at humor. A large yawn took control of him.

If he could just sleep, he'd be fine. That and drink, he really wanted to guzzle the left over soda, knowing it was now at the right temperature and flatness, but aware his stomach would rebel most ferociously.

"If you insist, but this goes much longer and I'm over-riding your obstinate need to be in control. You're sick lad, very sick."

"Mmmm." Tintin agreed listlessly. Shifting his position, he leaned his head against the corner of the chair. On one hand he wished to be alone and suffer through this on his own. But on the other hand he was quite grateful and rather touched that his friend had stayed with him. There wasn't much for the man to do, but knowing he wasn't alone was rather comforting.

Opening his eyes he noticed Haddock observing him, his expression anxious, blue eyes narrowed and brows furrowed.

Rousing himself a bit, he managed a smile. "I'll be all right, Archie. Thanks for staying with me. You really don't have to, you know."

"Barnacles boy, do you think I'd leave you like this?" The Captain growled, scowling at him.

"No-oo."

"All right then. Nothing you wouldn't do yourself if things were reversed, now – would you?"

Tintin had no choice but to nod, of course he'd stay if it was the other way around. Sighing with contentment he settled a little further into the chair. Only to rouse a few minutes later to return once more to the bathroom.

God he was so tired of throwing up.

…


	3. Hospitality

Poor Tintin's got it bad, doesn't he…

…

Tintin lay there and waited. Any moment now and he'd start to feel the need to be sick again. Glancing at the clock by his bed he noted that it was just over seven hours since he'd first been sick, not counting the time he'd made himself throw up, so long ago.

Sighing he turned a little. Yes, any moment now. Frowning, he lay there and began to feel a sense of wonder. He was done. He didn't know how or why he knew it, but he was sure of it. He waited a few minutes more – a half hour went by, then forty minutes. But he was absolutely positive – he was finally done with throwing up. Feeling like both laughing and crying, he settled for turning over. At last he could sleep.

Tintin woke to find he had developed quite the headache. And he was chilled. His back ached something fierce as well. Shifting so he could see the clock, he noted that he'd only been asleep an hour.

Rubbing his face with his hand, he sat up. One thing was for sure, he could have something to drink. Again he wasn't sure how he knew such a thing so convincingly, he only knew that it was the truth. He didn't think he should be daring enough to eat anything though. In actuality he wasn't hungry at all, just thirsty.

Sliding out of bed and standing up, he couldn't help the moan caused by his very sore muscles. He'd been laying around for most of the day and was quite stiff. Once outside of the covers he shivered.

As he stepped into the living room he noted the fire roaring in the fireplace and a familiar black head that was still sitting in the chair. He also noted that Haddock was now reading a completely different book than the one from earlier in the day.

"Archie? Still here?"

"Tintin! Go back to bed lad, you need sleep."

Making his way over to the table and grabbing his glass, he tilted the contents into his mouth and almost sagged at the wondrous sensation of glorious liquid pouring into him. Finishing the glass, he moved back to the chairs. He was beginning to shiver almost uncontrollably and the fire looked good. And so did the hard floor in front of it. The thought of lying on his mattress did not appeal to him, his back ached too much.

Lying down full length he soaked up the warmth that blazed out at him. But it didn't seem to have any effect on the chills that kept running through him. Perhaps he should go get his blankets…

Feeling a hand lay against his brow again, he looked up as he heard a gasp.

"Laddie! You're burning up!"

"Am I? That explains the headache then." Tintin replied somewhat lethargically. He really was becoming rather light headed.

"Come on lad, back to bed with you." Haddock replied, and began to slide his hands under the youth in an attempt to pick him up.

"Oh! No…please Archie. Let me lay here. My back's really sore from lying down so much and being sick and the floor actually feels good. And so does the fire…"

Stilling, the older man peered down at him. "You're chilled aren't you, I can see you shivering."

Tintin nodded.

"I should get a doctor…"

Shaking his head, Tintin made to sit up. "No, I'll be fine, just need to sleep, that's all. The worst is over, I'm sure of it. I'm no longer throwing up and I just had something to drink and it's staying down. Please Archie, no doctor."

Growling to himself, Haddock stared back at him. "Fine, but it's against my better judgment. Don't know why you're so stubborn about doctors, boy."

Tintin didn't have anything against doctors – he just didn't like being fussed over. Though it was nice to have his friend nearby.

"Can you bring in my blankets? Oh – and my pillow too? Please?"

"Aye, of course." So saying, the Captain soon returned with the bedding and helped wrap it around the young lad until Tintin was nice and cozy.

"Anything else ya need, my boy? Not sure you should have aspirin after throwing up, but if your head hurts…"

"Mmm, head does hurt. But you're right, shouldn't have aspirin, stomach's too tender. I'll be fine. Maybe some tea? If that's not too much trouble?"

"Oh hush, lad. No trouble at all."

A few minutes later and Tintin heard the whistle of the kettle, followed by the older man returning. A gentle hand helped him to sit up, and an arm around his shoulder supported him as he sipped at the weak tea.

Finishing the cup, he smiled his thanks to his good friend. Settling himself on the floor he curled up and closed his eyes, feeling Snowy lie against him. He reached a hand out of the blankets and gave his little companion a comforting rub between the ears. Within moments he felt himself beginning to sink back into blessed slumber.

And woke up sometime later to find he was being cradled. Tintin moaned. Oh his head hurt! And he was so cold! He was trembling so hard his teeth threatened to chatter.

"Easy there laddie, easy." A familiar voice crooned soothingly.

"Ar..Archie? I'm really sick, aren't I?"

'Aye lad, that you are. You've been moaning in your sleep for a little while now, and shaking like a leaf. If it wasn't so cold out, I'd haul you to a hospital, but don't want to chill you even more. I've called a doctor, son, whether you like it or not. Should be here shortly."

Tintin didn't care. He only knew his head was about to explode. If he could, he'd throw himself on the fire in order to warm up. A small sob shook his chest. Lord he was miserable. Maybe the doctor could give him something to put him out of his misery. He'd never wanted unconsciousness so much in his life. Where was a thug lurking nearby with chloroform when you needed one?

He could feel the Captain beginning to rock him. Under normal circumstances he'd be extremely offended; he wasn't a child after all. But in this instance he only snuggled up against his friend, seeking comfort.

Feeling a weight against him he cracked open his eyelids to see a pair of very concerned brown eyes looking up at him. Poor Snowy! He smiled encouragingly at the dog in an effort to ease the small animal's anxiety. As much as he wanted to reach out and pet his little friend he didn't want to move a muscle as he feared it would make his head fall off.

Closing his eyes with a small groan, he felt the hands holding him tighten. "It's okay, my boy, you'll be all right, doctor's on his way, get you feeling better in no time."

As the room and everything in it began to swim about him, Tintin hoped that would be the case. Because he really wasn't doing very well.

…

Tintin lay on a bed. At least he thought it was a bed. He really wasn't sure and was feeling rather…out of it. He wondered if he had been chloroformed again. His head didn't hurt, so he must not have been knocked out. Oh..wait - hadn't he been ill...

As he lay there he became aware of other strange sensations. He could hear an odd beeping. And the air smelled…antiseptic. Shifting a bit he realized that his right hand was immobilized.

Just as he started to crack gummy eyelids he heard a voice.

"Tintin? Laddie? You waking up there, my boy?!"

Okay, that was recognizable.

Using his left hand as his right seemed to be caught in something, he wiped at his eyes until he could open them fully. Peering about he realized he was in a hospital room. Glancing down at himself, he could see he was wearing a green gown beneath the rather plain green covers. Turning to his right he beheld a very familiar figure sitting in a chair next to his bed.

"Ca…Captain?" He whispered, his throat dry.

Reaching over his friend grabbed a pitcher off a nearby tray and poured the liquid into a plain green cup. Bringing the cup to Tintin's lips, the older man held it while Tintin sipped the refreshing water. He noticed oddly that Haddock had done so one handed.

Shifting a bit more, he looked down at this right hand and observed a couple of intriguing things. One – a tube was inserted into the back of his hand, held down by tape. And two – the Captain was gently cradling Tintin's hand in his own.

"Oh God, lad, it's so good to see you awake and talking again. You have no idea how worried I've been." Haddock exclaimed, his lips trembling and those blue eyes were moist.

Tintin's own eyes widened a bit. The last thing he remembered was lying by the fire…

"Archie…how long have I…"

"Four days! Four long interminable days while I wondered if you'd ever wake up. Wondered and prayed and practically tore my hair out."

"Oh." Tintin replied rather stunned. "I knew I was sick, but didn't realize…"

"You had food poisoning! If I hadn't called the doctor lord knows what would have happened. You had some serious bugs rampaging through that little body of yours and between the fever and being dehydrated and your confounded stubbornness ya could have died!" The Captain shouted, his face turning red. But not as red as his eyes, eyes that began to stream tears down already wet cheeks.

Opening his mouth to reply Tintin could only watch miserably as his friend began to cry. Reaching his other hand around he tried to place it on the man's shoulder but could only reach his arm. "Archie, it's okay, I'm fine. I pulled through, see?"

"Not without the grace of God and modern medicine ya didn't." The older man growled. "By the time the doctor got to your apartment you'd lost consciousness. And when ya arrived at the hospital they said you were lapsing into a coma. They tried to pull you out of it, but you were too weak. The only thing they could do was pump you full of medicine and fluids and hope you'd come out of it."

Standing up the Captain gently raised Tintin's hand and then sat on the edge of the bed, still cradling Tintin's right hand in his own. Placing his left hand on the youth's shoulder, Haddock leaned close and regarded the boy sternly.

"Don't you ever do that again, hear me? I can take almost anything, Tintin my lad, but the thought of losing you would…is…I couldn't stand it, my boy. Hear me?"

Before Tintin could respond the Captain continued. "I mean it. Stop being so stubborn. You need help, for barnacle's sake, ask for it. What do you think I'm here for?" Stopping, the man let go of Tintin's shoulder to wipe at his eyes. "See what you've done to me? Turned me into a blubbering fool…"

Taking a deep breath, Tintin raised his free hand and placed it against the Captain's. "I'm sorry my friend. You're right, I am stubborn. It's just that I am so used to being on my own, looking out after myself that I guess…I have a hard time accepting help. Even when it's to my best advantage."

Biting his lip, Tintin looked down. "I really didn't think, I guess. Just thought I'd just get better. It's a good thing I have you, or I really would have been in trouble."

"And don't you forget it!" Haddock replied firmly. "Honestly lad, if I had gone home, you most likely would have died. Snowy might have roused someone, but if they'd got there too late…"

"Yes mon cher, I understand. And I am so, so sorry to have put you through all this worry." Tintin leaned forward and placed his head against the older man's shoulder. "I owe you my life. And to think it was because of some bad food I'd eaten." Raising his head back up he regarded the Captain curiously. "Do you know what made me ill? I don't recall eating anything questionable."

"Could have been anything, from what the doctor told me the bug can lie dormant and then suddenly spring into action."

Nodding, Tintin lay back. He was still rather out of it. But at least he now knew he would get better. He not only was safe in the security of the hospital staff, but also safe in the metaphorical and literal arms of his best friend.

As his eyes closed he just knew those arms would continue to keep him safe. However had he gotten by in life without his dear friend beside him? Amazing he'd lived this long, considering all the trouble he'd gotten into. One thing was for sure, he would never disregard the Captain's advice ever again.

That was what best friends were for, after all – to look out after one another.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

I was going to give the boy anything from pnuemonia to the bubonic plague, but as I began to research symptoms and cures I realized something -

'Write what you know' is a mantra for budding authors. Well let me tell you, this happened to me pretty how I described it. There is nothing so debilitating as a bout of food poisoning. At the time I didn't know it was food poisoning, only that I was sicker than the proverbial dog. I wasn't quite so bad as Tintin, though. I didn't end up at the hospital - after clearing out my entire digestive system (oh yayyy…) I just had the headache and fever and sore back for one night and then felt listless for a couple of days.

Good thing, because I didn't have a Haddock to hold my hand and make sure I was all right. Just a cat who looked at me as if to say 'you gonna feed me or just lie around all day?', don't get me wrong – I love my cat and know he loves me, but he's really not the most comforting beast in the world. But I lived – obviously – duh!

Since I've wanted to write my particular version about Tintin getting sick and having the Captain take care of him, well…write what you know.


End file.
